


he can make me golden

by sadonsundays



Category: Black Panther (2018), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Cousin Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13876179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadonsundays/pseuds/sadonsundays
Summary: Erik should be dead.





	he can make me golden

**Author's Note:**

> i've been dying to write these two so i did it on my phone. i apologize for any mistakes! title from '100 letters' by halsey

Erik should be dead. 

When he opens his eyes he’s surrounded by white, but it’s not a heavenly glow. It’s clinical, harsh. Like a hospital. 

“You’re awake.”

Erik tries to turn his head at the deep, soft voice but he feels so weak. A sliver of unease shoots through him. He hasn’t felt weak in a long time. Steps approach where he lays and he can’t close his eyes when they meet T’Challa’s. There’s something calming about them immediately, which is...unnerving. Erik shrugs the thought off but his body reacts—sweat gathering in his palms while his heart pounds so loudly he can’t believe it doesn’t echo off the walls. He tries to lift his arms but finds them restrained.

“What is this?” He asks, throat dry.

T’Challa only stares.

Erik glares at him, blood boiling as the feeling of betrayal settles over him.

“I told you to let me die.”

Veins bulge in his arms as he tries to break free.

“Erik,” T’Challa says, calmly, “do not struggle.”

Erik clenches his hands into fists.

“N’Jadaka...”

“Don’t,” Erik snarls, repulsed.

T’Challa shakes his head at him, mouth in a deep frown.

Erik’s so mad he can barely focus, voice shaky as he grinds out, “You don’t have the right.”

“You cannot—“

But T’Challa doesn’t finish, eyes straying from Erik as he looks beyond the bed towards the sound of a door interrupting him. Erik can’t see who it is. 

“Brother,” Erik hears, frantic.

It’s the girl, then. The one he nearly killed.

He pushes himself up, huffs angrily when he gets nowhere.

T’Challa brushes a finger over his knee, brief. The touch sends a shock of electricity through him. 

“Don’t,” Erik whispers, alarmed. He’s about to say more when T’Challa silences him with a glare.

He closes his mouth.

“T’Challa, he’s awaken?”

“Not now, Shuri,” T’Challa responds, firm.

“Brother—“

“Yes, he is awake. Leave us.”

“But, we have —“

“Shuri,” T’Challa snaps, “go.”

A tense silence follows before the door closes.

Erik tilts his head back, feeling T’Challa’s eyes on him— always on him.

His anger simmers, barely contained beneath the surface of his skin. His chest breaks out in a light sweat as he makes eye contact with the king. His eyes are cautious, concerned—but mostly pained. Like looking at Erik is killing him. 

He doesn’t understand this man, doesn’t understand why he wouldn’t honor his last wish. They share the same blood yet T’Challa couldn’t feel further from Erik and his beginnings.

They are not blood. They are not family.

They are nothing.

T’Challa opens his mouth, closes it as he takes in Erik’s form— scars and all.

Erik’s heart hammers relentlessly. He wishes he had more clothing on, more layers to protect him from the king’s gaze. He‘s disarmed, exposed in nearly every sense. It is unsettling. He breaks eye contact, unable to maintain it. 

He tries to deflect from the discomfort stirring in his heart.

“Why am I here?”

The ‘still alive’ hangs heavy between them as T’Challa remains quiet, still staring at him with those sad, dark eyes.

Frustration blooms within him, staining his cheeks a deep red. He will not be made a fool.

“Man, if you don’t answer me—“ he pulls at the restraints again, determined to break them this time.

T’Challa extends a hand, nearly touching him, but seems to think better of it at the last second.

Erik doesn’t see how his hand shakes at his side as he demands, “Stop that.”

T’Challa’s voice booms through the small room and settles Erik immediately, which is strange.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Erik says, petulant. 

“Be. Still.”

It comes out like a warning.

“What are you—“

T’Challa places a hand on his panting, exposed chest, for once looking unsure and so, so young.

Erik’s mind flashes back to a humid night on the basketball court, tires screeching off in the distance as he stared up at the sky...

His heart cracks, just a little. 

“Don’t...” He breathes.

“Do not fight me,” T’Challa pleads, “not now.”

Shocked, Erik feels tears beginning to build. What the hell is happening to him? He closes his eyes. Once again unable to bear looking into T’Challa’s. He was never supposed to see him again. He should be dead, why isn’t he dead?

“Please cuz,” he gasps, knowing deep down this is the only reaction T’Challa will allow and answer to— for now. 

T’Challa responds immediately, “You are my blood.”

He continues, “My father took everything from you.”

He swallows, loud in the room as he declares, “I must account for his sins.”

Erik takes a deep breath, a whirlwind of emotions flowing through him as T’Challa’s words sink in. He hates this man, thinking he’s a hero, ignorant to how selfish an act he committed by keeping Erik here.

“Fuck you,” Erik hisses, “you ain’t nothing to me. Better off dead to me.”

“Please hear me,” T’Challa whispers, earnest, “please know I never knew—“

He stops, confusion evident in his face as he searches for the right words.

There are no words, Erik thinks as he looks at him, angry again at the sorrow in T’Challa’s voice. His words are laced with bitterness as he whispers, “The great king, rendered speechless by his poor, pitiful cousin—“

“Listen,” T’Challa begs, gripping the curve of Erik’s scarred, uneven chest softly. Erik’s skin burns.

Erik curls his hands into fists, “Get off me —“

T’Challa removes his hand as he responds, “Please, listen.”

His voice flows over Erik and settles around him like water. Soothing, pleading, begging to be heard. Erik doesn’t want to hear him.

“You shoulda let me die.”

T’Challa again places his hand on Erik, needing to ground himself.

If Erik were unbound he’d kill him. 

T’Challa pushes, “You have done unspeakable things, Erik. You have hurt so many people...”

He sighs.

Erik closes his eyes, squeezes them hard when T’Challa persists- “But so many people have hurt you, too.”

Erik nearly gasps, something inside him coming undone. He doesn’t want to react, tries his hardest not to as he curls his fingers into the stiff sheets below him. His mind races as he realizes how quickly he’s losing control of himself. T’Challa must know, must see it on his face. He needs to conceal himself— is horrified to find he doesn’t have the energy to. He is unsure how long he can keep his historically impenetrable center hidden from this man. 

He needs to act. Do something, say something— open his mouth and scream at T’Challa, challenge him that no one has ever hurt Erik but his uncle, T’Challa’s father—but T’Challa holds a hand up.

And for some hysterical reason, Erik says nothing, just grinds his teeth. He must be under a spell...How can he feel so weak from just T’Challa’s words...

“You have made mistakes you cannot take back. We all have. But we must move forward. Not in death but in life,” T’Challa is still speaking but Erik can’t hear him. He’s panicking—assaulted by his emotions. He cannot allow himself to feel anything but anger towards his cousin.

Warmth and comfort— they will get him killed.

“T’Challa, stop,” he commands.

T’Challa stops.

Erik listens to the sound of his breathing, revels in the quiet. 

He is so tired.

“I know,” T’Challa says, “I know.”

When Erik says nothing, T’Challa continues.

“I cannot undo what has been done, but I can try to mend what is broken,” he pauses before adding, somewhat reluctantly, “Erik.”

Erik won’t even bother denying he’s broken. T’Challa’s father took care of that.

“For the immediate future I have requested that medical move you to my wing of the palace until further notice. Only a few know you are still alive. It will remain that way until we have decided next steps.”

Erik, overwhelmed and nearly paralyzed by his emotions, looks at the ground.

“For now, you must rest.”

T’Challa removes his hand from Erik’s body and turns towards the door. Erik’s skin cools immediately in the absence of the King’s heat. 

T’Challa stalks slowly away. Erik knows he’s giving him a chance to speak up— but Erik doesn’t. He can’t find the words.

T’Challa’s shoulders sag as he grips the door handle, waiting a beat more— Erik still says nothing. T’Challa leaves. 

Exhausted, Erik closes his eyes.

/

He sleeps on and off for three days.

The next time he truly wakes he’s in a bed, not a laboratory, and the sun is setting outside the floor to ceiling windows off to his right.

The room is huge. 

Erik looks out the window, watches as the sun sets slowly. For the second time the sight takes his breath away, like his father always said it would.

He brushes off the thought. 

He feels better than he did before, more awake. He thinks back to the exchange with T’Challa and cringes. He had felt so weak—soft. It disgusts him. He’s angry suddenly, so mad that the beauty of the sunset turns ugly. Hues of red and pink melting together like the familiar stain of blood.

What had gotten into him before?

“Fuckin’ drugs,” he mutters out loud.

Something shifts. 

His eyes fly to the door, searching. He doesn’t notice T’Challa in the other corner of the room until he clears his throat. 

“Goddammit cuz,” Erik snaps, “you really gotta sneak around like that?”

T’Challa walks over, stops at the edge of the bed as he replies, “I am sorry for startling you.” 

“I don’t get startled,” Erik lies, “just don’t like how you were over there...watching me.”

“I have not been here long,” T’Challa clarifies, “I just came to check on you.”

“Well thanks,” Eric responds, heavily sarcastic, “you can go now.”

“Do not degrade me, Erik.”

T’Challa doesn’t even blink as he sits at the end of the bed, radiating grace and confidence.

“I need to speak with you. You’ve been on my mind.”

Erik rolls his eyes and slaps the blankets curled around him like a child.

“Don’t care, cuz. You can gladly get the f—“ 

“Erik,” T’Challa stops him, “please, listen to me.”

Erik glares in disbelief, the irritation inside him intensifying as he nearly shouts, “No! I’m done with your goddamn interruptions. You listen to me now.”

His breaths come out heavy, gaze narrowed as he dares T’Challa to defy him again. He doesn’t, only raises his eyebrows which is infuriating but to Erik‘s shock— remains silent.

Erik points at him, teeth bared as he says, “I ain’t about to stay somewhere I’m not wanted— especially after I told you to let me die you selfish asshole.”

He lets the insult sink in before continuing, “Your family took everything from me. While you were here, happy, playing family— in your fucking palace—I was fighting for survival on the streets.”

T’Challa closes his eyes.

“Look at me,” Erik demands.

T’Challa doesn’t. Only whispers, “Erik...”

“Open your eyes you fuckin’ coward.”

T’Challa takes a deep breath as he does what he’s told. His wide eyes are wet with unshed tears. 

Erik swallows down the lump in his throat as he asks, “You think you can fix what your daddy did by saving me?”

Erik scoffs, shakes his head as he musters as much venom in his voice as he can, “You ain’t no hero and neither was your daddy. Not even close. He was a liar, a thief. No brave bones in his body. I only wish he was still alive so I had been the one—“

T’Challa’s on top of him in an instant, claws ripping the pillow next to Erik’s head as he growls, “Enough.”

Erik smirks at him, satisfied at hitting a nerve. His gold teeth shine in the setting sun’s glow as he whispers, “He wasn’t any good, and you won’t be either.”

T’Challa slaps him, hard. Thankfully, the claws have retracted. 

Erik’s cheek stings as he raises his hands, prepared to kill the bastard for good this time. Before he can actually touch him though, T’Challa’s hands grip his and pin them to the bed above his head.

Erik curses the cat’s impossible reflexes. 

T’Challa looks down at him and for a moment all they do is stare at one another, breathing the same air.

“I am sorry,” T’Challa breathes, “for it all. I am so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry,” Erik responds, embarrassed by how disappointed he sounds. 

T’Challa leans down, connecting their lips in the softest of kisses. Erik arches slightly off the bed, confused and hurt and frustrated by this man he can never keep up with.

“N’Jadaka, I’ve been restless, thinking of you. And I—“

He doesn’t finish the thought. His lips brush against Erik’s, fleeting. 

“What are you doing to me?” Erik breathes into T’Challa’s open mouth, eyes closed as he waits for the answer.

“I don’t know,” T’Challa responds, open and honest as he moves one of his hands down to caress the sore heat of Erik’s cheek. 

They make eye contact and Erik can’t stand it. There’s something in T’Challa’s eyes- an emotion so deep Erik could drown in it.

“Let me,” he mumbles.

Erik uses his free arm to flip them, settling atop the black panther with ease. 

Erik’s hands roam over the smooth, velvety skin of T’Challa’s beautifully toned chest. His fingertips barely graze his nipples, teasing. 

T’Challa whimpers quietly, arches slightly in an attempt to get closer. 

Erik shoves down the spark of fondness, clinging instead to the overwhelming feeling of control he has from having one of the most powerful men on Earth beneath him, submitting. 

“I want you,” T’Challa confesses, quiet and vulnerable in the stillness of the room.

Erik leans down, noses at his cheek as he asks, “How baby? How you want me?”

He grips T’Challa’s throat then, lightening fast, and squeezes hard.

“Ah—“

“Want it rough? Want me to mess you up? Do some damage?”

T’Challa coughs as he shakes his head, looking small.

Erik releases him, understanding coloring his face.

“Oh I see. I see what you need.”

He leans down, settling in the cage of T’Challa’s soft thighs, rubbing his arousal against him slow and controlled. He noses against T’Challa’s jaw, breathing in his scent as deep as he possibly can.

He nearly moans by how comforted he feels.

“N’Jadaka,” T’Challa pants as Erik bites down on his pulse point again and again— nipping lightly over the abused skin before soothing it with a final, gentle suck. 

“Oh...”

“You want it soft, kitten? That it? Want me to take you apart slow with this dick?”

T’Challa moans, gasping “yes” as Erik reaches for the waistband of his pants.

Erik should’ve known. T’Challa seems like a romantic. 

Erik is quick to undress them both, settling down in the soft, silk sheets as he spreads T’Challa’s thighs apart. 

“What would people say, cuz? Knowing you’re giving yourself to me like some slut—“

“Don’t, don’t degrade me—“ T’Challa doesn’t finish, eyes glazing over as Erik decides to swallow his cock down into warm, wet heat.

“Oh, oh please...”

T’Challa’s hands come to grip Erik’s dreads, pushing them back slowly as he cants his hips into Erik’s throat. 

“Fuck me, fuck me,” T’Challa begs quietly, “please, Erik—“

Erik pulls off his cock with a vulgar suck, reveling in the blush high on T’Challa’s cheeks. 

He moves up the bed, not stopping until he’s directly above T’Challa, pleased at how desperate he grips Erik’s hips in his hands.

“I’m gonna give you what you need,” Erik tells him, “gonna fuck you so good with this dick, baby.”

“Give it to me, come on.”

“Where’s the stuff, kitten?”

T’Challa glances to a side table, Erik reaches inside it and grabs the oil— needing to be inside T’Challa as soon as possible. 

He wastes no time in slicking his fingers, pushing one into T’Challa gently as the king reaches for him, pulling him down into a kiss that leaves him breathless.

Why can’t be breathe?

He breaks away, lifting himself up in an effort to put some distance between them. T’Challa appears concerned momentarily before becoming distracted at the intrusion of a second finger.

“Ah, ah—“

“Shh kitten, I’m gonna take care of you.”

T’Challa turns away, blushing furiously as Erik nails the soft bundle of nerves inside of him. 

“There—“

“That it, baby? That your spot?”

T’Challa nods, eyes fluttering as he bares his marked neck.

Erik latches onto the spot he was sucking earlier, biting harder than he intended as he adds a third finger. He smirks to himself when he realizes how bruised and sore T’Challa’s neck will be tomorrow.

“Oh, please, please—“

Erik withdraws his fingers slowly, moving away from the marks forming on T’Challa’s neck so he can grab the backs of his firm, luscious thighs. 

“Lift up, little panther- wrap yourself around me.”

T’Challa does as he’s told, and Erik can’t help but run his hands on the insides of T’Challa’s soft thighs before grasping his wet dick.

“There- please-“ T’Challa’s firm, muscular arms come to wrap around Erik’s waist, grinding against him in a bitch in heat.

“Hey,” Erik snaps, pushing T’Challa back down, “quit that. We ain’t even got started yet.”

T’Challa has the audacity to look offended before his face melts into one of pure bliss— shivering as Erik strokes his hand slowly up and down his gorgeous, uncut cock.

“That’s it, kitten, let me take you down...”

T’Challa whimpers, arms flying above his head as he arches his back as far as he can.

“Erik, inside me, please—“

Erik wastes no more time, taking the oil and spreading it over himself as quickly as he can. 

“Fuck,” he grinds out, shuddering at how hard he is already. 

He’s desperate and aching— head of his cock leaking as he presses it to the King’s quivering hole.

“Kitten,” Erik breathes, in awe, “you’re so tight.”

T’Challa nods but doesn’t say anything, taking deep breaths as he settles into the intrusion of his body.

“Take it, just like that, we almost there,” Erik soothes him. He knows how big he is, more proud of it than he cares to admit. 

“It...is a lot,” T’Challa confesses.

Erik leans down, arms straining as he presses a kiss to the curve of T’Challa’s cheek bone.

“I know.”

T’Challa grips the back of Erik’s head as Erik buries himself to the root. He gasps into Erik’s mouth—overwhelmed by how full he feels.

Erik bites at T’Challa’s bottom lip, tells him to breathe.

T’Challa’s tense so Erik takes his cock in hand, sliding the fluid gathered at the head up and down— pressure firm and sure. 

T’Challa moans as Erik jacks his cock, whispering “move” as Erik quickens his pace. 

Erik has to remove his hand from T’Challa’s cock— nearly apologizing before he plants both arms on either side of T’Challa’s body, pulling out of his body slowly before thrusting deeply back in.

“Fuck yeah,” Erik grunts, “imma ruin this your ass—“

“You can’t—“ T’Challa groans, “can’t talk like that.”

“What? Too much for you, your highness?”

T’Challa rolls his eyes but it’s playful, brief.

Erik smiles, muffling a laugh into the damp crook of T’Challa’s neck.

His thrusts speed up, getting stronger the more desperate for release he becomes. He hasn’t had release in so long.

He looks down at his cousin, for once at a loss for words.

Like always, T’Challa fills the silence between them.

“I dreamed of this,” T’Challa reveals, hushed.

“Yeah? Dreamt of me fucking you til you can’t walk?”

“No...” He gasps as Erik hits his prostate dead on, “N’Jadaka, I dreamt of your touch, of feeling you inside...”

Erik has to refrain from rolling his eyes at his ever romantic cousin. He’s so open, too soft. He will get hurt. 

Erik doesn’t reply, leaning down to slip his tongue into the wet cavern of T’Challa’s mouth. 

He leans down, taking T’Challa’s gorgeous cock in his hand, jerking up and down to the pace of his thrusts.

T’Challa’s nails grip his shoulders, scratching down his back the harder Erik thursts.

“I’m close,” T’Challa breathes, right into his ear. 

“Come on baby, come on yourself, get yourself dirty—“

“I’m going to-“

T’Challa comes, cock pulsing, drenching his abdomen in clear liquid. 

“Oh, it feels...so good...”

Erik grips T’Challa’s ass in both his hands, getting in deep as he feels T’Challa clench his soft, warm insides down on his cock.

“I’m gonna come in this ass—“

“Do it, please, come inside me.”

Erik wraps one arm around T’Challa’s waist, the other grips his ass cheek, pulling it apart as he empties his cock inside. 

He’s nearly drooling, relief flooding his body as he lets go of all control— biting down on T’Challa’s collar bone as he rides out wave after wave of pleasure. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” T’Challa promises.

Erik tightens his grip, hold growing possessive the longer they lay in soiled sheets. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” T’Challa whispers.

Erik closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> these two kill me, i love them. should i write them together again??


End file.
